


Midwinter Fires

by ideserveyou



Category: Arthur of the Britons
Genre: Angst, Bathing/Washing, Feast, Fights, Hair, Hurt/Comfort, Mead, Multi, Rape/Non-con References, Religions, Winter Solstice, Yuletide
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-12-27
Updated: 2011-01-06
Packaged: 2017-10-14 03:47:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,841
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/145009
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ideserveyou/pseuds/ideserveyou
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The Yuletide celebrations in Arthur's village are hard work this year</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Yuletide

**Author's Note:**

> Written as a Yuletide gift for all my AotB fan friends. A post-canon bit of fun for everyone - even Llud!

Yule. The day when the year turns. A time for new beginnings, my grandfather used to say.

It was a cold Yule this year.

The snows came early and blanketed the hills; hoar-frost glittered wickedly on the leafless trees. The ground was like iron, the lake sealed in creaking, glistening black ice that was harder and harder to break each day when we came to draw water for the horses.  
Hunting was poor, as the animals moved away to seek food and shelter in the deepest parts of the forest; we were thankful for our stores of bartered grain, smoked meat, dried fruit and honey set aside in more plentiful times. And of course the mead. A barrel of good mead is a big help when you need to forget about your empty belly.  
The longhouse is never the warmest of dwellings, with its high roof and big double doors; at times like this I would exchange it willingly for the humble homestead I built with my own hands.  
…  
That was a good place, that little house in the sheltered clearing by the river; we were happy there, my Cerys and I, outdwellers though we were. She never reproached me, never once, although the Gods know she had much cause. Never asked why, either. I was grateful for that, at the time. My own conscience troubled me enough. And my heart, too. I wonder now, though, whether she knew. Women have a way of divining these things. I never had the chance to ask her, nor to thank her. I’ll never know… not in this life, at any rate.  
Perhaps when I cross the bridge she will be waiting for me on the other side, under the apple trees.  
I do hope so.  
…  
Dear me, now I am rambling in my thoughts like an old man. I refuse to be an old man. Even though my shoulder has been aching without let-up for weeks, and my sons have been favouring me, giving me the seat nearest the fire, slipping an extra sheepskin onto my bed, taking on some of my tasks without ever saying a word.  
They are good to me.  
If not always to each other.  
…  
As on the darkest midnight of every year, we lit the bonfire in the yard to bring back the sun; the houses were hung with evergreens to remind us that the summer would come again, and lamps twinkled in every doorway. The traditional procession of singers wound its way through the village, stopping at every door for their wooden bowl to be replenished with yet more drink and passed around.  
The Yule log – a mighty piece of ash wood – was kindled in the longhouse hearth, to burn constantly and keep evil spirits out of our home while the doors were open to everyone. Its warmth was very welcome too, as we saw off the last of the revellers, found places on the longhouse floor for the visitors, and went to our own beds.  
…  
Dreams on the eve of Yule are prophetic, or so they say. Most years, I have not had any such dreams – or if I have, I have not recalled them the next morning. The mead may have had something to do with it.  
But this year, I dreamed; and I can see it now. As clearly as I saw that gigantic warrior when I had the fever. He turned out to be real; I am hoping that this will not.  
Through a mist, I saw a door open. Two figures came through it; both covered in blood. One fell to the ground, dead; and I knew that it was Arthur. His killer stood there, blood on his hands, looking down at him. I did not recognize him until he raised his head, and the mist cleared, and it was Kai standing there, staring at me with empty eyes…  
…  
I woke in a cold sweat, and had to creep to the door of the bedchamber to look round it and see that both were still in their beds and breathing.  
My two sons: more precious to me than my own life. But they had been at daggers drawn the past month and more. Ever since that Roman girl came and went.  
Curse her.  
…  
Each Yule the young men of the village draw lots to see who will play the parts of the Two Kings in the traditional mock-battle between the sun and the darkness. The Oak King and the Holly King; life and death; good and evil.  
Great good and great wickedness are but a hair’s thickness apart; the two Kings are really just two halves of the same whole.  
They fight it out, and often inflict some real damage in the process, but in the end the Oak King must win.  
If only life were that simple.  
…  
We stood in the crowd as the battle was played out before us; it made me think back to the crowd that gathered around the sword ring to see Arthur duel with Morged’s champion swordsman Karn; and then of that hot summer day when I watched Arthur and Kai fight it out between them, knowing that whoever won would be destroyed by his victory, fearing that I was about to lose them both.  
Idiot boys. Why can’t they see that they too are two halves of the same whole?  
At length the right man won, although it was a close thing: the Oak King, somewhat bruised and battered, was allowed to prevail, the Holly King was helped to his feet, and we went in to the feast.  
…  
For the Yule festival, the leader of the village keeps open house. The hall is full of guests, friends and strangers, there is always food on the table, and nobody is turned away empty. Not even the humblest of the Wood People, who this year arrived with a great sheaf of mistletoe to hang in the doorway and encourage the young men to kiss the girls under it… not that they need much encouragement, most of them.  
Although there is at least one young man I know who does not pine for any girl. Not any more.  
…  
Weapons must be left outside the door, where the doorwardens keep an eye on them. A goodly pile we had this year: many swords and spears, and Kai’s axe, and here and there one of the fine blades he stole from Mordant before locking that nasty piece of work in his own cage.  
These pieces of metal are all that stands between us and destruction… No, not all. Arthur’s vision. We have that, too. And in the end it may prove more powerful than any weapon.  
…  
Inside the hall, the feast was set. A boar, roasted with an apple in his mouth; and many other good things besides.  
The mead flowed like a honeyed river. We toasted Arthur’s dream of peace; laughed as we recalled the looks on the Celtic leaders’ faces when they realised Arthur had faked his own death, tricked them and captured them; hoped that our next attempt to make a treaty with the Saxons might be more successful than the last.  
A familiar voice was raised above the babble.  
‘Just as the earth undergoes death in order to be made new, so also must the human soul.’  
Brother Amlodd had made a perilous journey through the snow to join us for the feast. He never misses the chance of a good meal.  
There are not many Christian converts here, but all the same the plump, elderly priest is welcomed by all. He saved us when we were threatened by the Saxons’ animal plague. And he’s good company; unlike Rolf the Preacher, he doesn’t push his religion down our throats, or expect us to throw our weapons away or change our customs. He understands that it is all the same whether we’re celebrating the renewal of the Sun or the Son.  
…  
As always, when we’d eaten our fill, each man at the table had to take his turn to provide the entertainment, or be thrown out into the cold: ‘Tell us a story, sing us a song, show us your arse, or else begone!’ we chanted between each one. (Believe me, when you’ve had a few cups of mead, this is the funniest rhyme in the world.)  
I told my tale of the day I bought a net from the Greek trader and went fishing for Saxon women – they’d all heard it before, of course, but it has lost nothing in the telling, although I was kind to my sons’ dignity and did not dwell on the part where they cowered behind a tree while the ladies threw rocks at them. Well, I didn’t dwell on it much…  
The Minstrel made us laugh with his song about Mark of Cornwall and the wedding that never was; he was asked to sing it three times.  
Then Kai borrowed the bard’s instrument and tied a scrap of fleece round it; he slackened the strings to make it play out of tune. ‘This is the best that a Saxon can do,’ he said, grinning, and gave us a hilarious off-key rendition of a song about reaping harvests, as sung by the pathetic excuse for a minstrel in Ulrich’s Saxon village. (Kai’s errand to take those two brats home caused him some pain, judging by what he told me – and what he didn’t – afterwards. But it’s good that he can laugh about it now.)  
It made Arthur look a bit thoughtful, though.  
The village is wondering why he doesn’t have a wife by now. Poor Rowena was smitten the day she first set eyes on him; she admitted as much, when we were riding home after the cattle market. I like that girl. She’s just right for him… or would be, if his heart weren’t already spoken for. He’s rescued her from two unfortunate would-be marriages, but I can’t see him making it a third. And anyway I don’t think she’ll forgive him now. Not for abandoning her after the games, to go and pick a fight with a bunch of Cornishmen; and certainly not for his dalliance with our Roman Princess… A pity. I’d have liked to call Rowena my daughter. But not Benedicta. There are some failings for which a pretty face is no compensation.  
…  
Gifts were exchanged around the long table. This year the three of us could afford to be generous, thanks to that hoard of Saxon silver we captured upriver with Mark’s help. But still we did not forget to set gifts and a horn of mead at an empty place at table to propitiate our ancestors’ spirits. They walk abroad at this time of the year, and it behoves us to remember them.  
After that came the dancing; and I took a turn around the hall with Olwen – the widow of our former nightwatchman. She has a soft spot for Kai, who felt responsible when her husband was murdered by Morcant’s men and has since ensured that her children have never gone hungry.  
And, it seems, she has rather more than just a soft spot for me – at any rate to judge by what we did after we left the gathering and I’d gone with her to see her safely home. The children were at her mother’s, and one thing led to another…  
I refuse to be an old man.  
She made it clear that she’d be happy to make this a more regular arrangement, if I wished it. Well, I could do worse. She hasn’t lost her looks, and she’s a pleasant soul. But not a patch on my poor Cerys.  
…  
Nor can she compare with the lady who stole my heart all those years ago. I can’t speak her name, can’t bear to think of it, even now. My lady…My son’s mother, but my lord’s wife. Not mine. Never mine.  
I never spoke of my love for her.  
She knew, though. Once, just once, we kissed under the mistletoe bough. A stolen Yuletide kiss; but it was enough to set us both on fire. Enough to warn us that any more would ignite a blaze that could not be hidden or extinguished. And by that time my Cerys had a child on the way; and she did too, our future leader as it turned out; and we knew we had to stamp out the spark then and there.  
So I picked a fight with my drunken cousin, and said words to him that were bitter enough to start a feud, to give me reason to leave; and moved away from the village the next spring, to build my own steading. I learned to be happy with what I had, and not to pine for what I did not, and could never have. And there I stayed, except when my sword-arm was required in battle; back then, of course, I still had two good hands…  
I am rambling again. It’s been a long evening, and the worst may be yet to come.  
…  
Well… for twelve nights we talked, and sang, and danced, and ate; and we passed the mead-jug round again and again.  
And, of course, we gambled.  
Dice; straws; knucklebones; an arm-wrestling contest.  
Kai bet against Arthur on everything, and lost every single time.  
You would think, after our trip to Modred’s Field, when he lost everything he owned to Arthur, he would have learned.  
Kai’s always been a gambler, but he’s not a lucky one.  
He’s not lucky in love, either: he too should be married by now. The village girls are all drawn to him, and he takes fleeting pleasure from them, but none can give him what he really needs, hard though they may try. That Saxon lass at the quarry even risked her life to help us, for love of him. But he would not see it – his thought was all for Arthur’s pain.  
I wish that had been so this Yuletide.  
Each day Arthur and Kai needled each other more and more, and there was no chance to clear the air. Arthur had duties as a host and leader; guests and relatives came and went; there was no quiet, no privacy.  
Twelve days is a long time.  
And of course mead tends to kick you in the head the next morning; and that doesn’t do much for your good temper, either.  
…  
Now we have come to the twelfth night, the end of the festivities. We took the last charred fragment of the old Yule log out of the hearth this morning, quenched it, and set it aside to protect the house from lightning until it’s needed to kindle the next Yule fire. The visitors drifted away during the course of the day… and at last only the three of us were left.  
Peace and quiet at last, I thought.  
How wrong I was.  
…  
As darkness fell this evening I came back with firewood and stopped outside the door, hearing raised voices.  
‘I tell you, I know she will return. These say so.’  
I sighed inwardly. Not again, Arthur. I told you it was time to let go. I am beginning to regret telling you there was a second bit of blue cloth caught on that tree. Should have let it blow away in the wind…  
‘And what if she does? The way you’ve been going on, there won’t be a village for her to return to.’  
Kai has had too much mead. His voice is slightly slurred, and too loud.  
‘What do you mean by that?’  
Arthur’s most icy tone. Kai, my son, if you have any sense you won’t answer him…  
‘You know very well. That last raid before the snows came would have finished us if Llud hadn’t been so quick-thinking.’  
Well, it’s nice to know somebody appreciates me. Precious little thanks did I get from our leader. But still Kai shouldn’t have said it, not with Arthur in this mood – and he should stop talking now.  
‘We won’t survive the next year if you carry on neglecting our defences.’  
Defences, my left boot. Since when did Kai know anything about military strategy? It’s really Kai he’s been neglecting. I should go in and rescue them both before they come to blows.  
‘But all you do is sit there mooning over those damned bits of blue rag –’

Next moment there were swift footsteps across the floor, and then a cry of loss and rage from Arthur.  
…  
I went in – I couldn’t pretend not to have heard– and stopped just inside the doorway. The two of them were too deep in their conflict to notice me at first. They were squaring up to each other across the small, new fire in the hearth; Kai’s hand still extended above the flames, and a faint, acrid smell of burning wool hung in the air.  
‘How dare you.’ Arthur was white-faced with fury.  
‘Well, someone had to bring you to your senses.’ Kai was no less furious.  
‘Oh, and that’s your job, is it? When last I looked, I was the leader here.’  
Kai’s hand dropped to his side. ‘I am not calling your leadership in question. Only your actions – or lack of them.’  
‘How I choose to act is nothing to do with you. I will not tolerate disloyalty.’  
‘So I am no longer permitted to be honest with you? I thought we had an understanding.’ Kai forced the words between clenched teeth; holding back tears along with his anger.  
‘Oh, so that’s what this is about.’ Arthur’s voice was as sharp as the edge of his sword. ‘I thought you understood that it was over.’  
‘Not for me… Arthur, please. Listen to me. You have my loyalty, my trust, my heart –’  
‘And now I can have your body, I suppose you’re going to say. Did you really think I would forget my Benedicta so easily?’

‘As easily as you forgot your Kai?’

I didn’t mean to say it; I have always tried not to take sides; but it brought Arthur up short, shocked and sobered, as if a bucket of cold water had been thrown over him.  
They both swung round and saw me standing in the doorway with my armful of logs, and a look of deepest shame crossed Arthur’s face as he realised I must have heard – and understood.  
He looked at Kai as though seeing him clearly for the first time in months.  
‘Kai – I – ’ He choked, shook his head, tried again. ‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean – ’  
‘Yes, you did.’ Kai pulled his cloak round himself and hunched into it, as though for protection. ‘Don’t try to deny it.’  
Arthur went to stand beside him and put a hand on his shoulder, but Kai brushed him off savagely, and turned his back. ‘Don’t.’  
Since the day he heard Kai say that that Saxon fugitive had been like a brother to him, I haven’t seen Arthur look so hurt. He snatched up his cloak and pushed past me through the doorway and out into the snow without another word, his head bowed.  
I was half minded to follow him, but I didn’t think he’d thank me for being witness to his tears as well as to his shame; and anyway I reckoned my other son needed me more.  
…  
He stood there as if frozen. I put down the logs, stirred up the fire, pretended not to see as he wiped his eyes on his cloak; then I poured more mead, coaxed him to sit with me at the deserted table, and set a hand on his shoulder.  
Presently he said hoarsely, ‘Thank you… How long have you known?’  
‘Since the day I gave you those two horns of wine,’ I said. ‘The last time you two had a proper fight.’  
Kai looked up in surprise, and I grinned at him. ‘Oh, I know you tried to pretend it was because of that little hussy Eithna. But I was watching you that day, and I saw how it was with you – both of you. And I hoped that you would be happy once you’d cleared the air.’  
‘We were,’ Kai said, the tears welling up again despite himself. ‘We were... But then she came, and he went back to how he used to be. Treating me like dirt, shutting me out. Only now he knows what that does to me. That’s why I can’t forgive him this time. I can’t…’  
Overcome, Kai laid his head on his folded arms on the table and wept.  
My poor boy.  
I rubbed his back, ruffled his hair, as I have not allowed myself to do for many years, not to offend his dignity. But tonight he so badly needed someone to be kind to him.  
…  
After a while his sobs eased; he heaved a huge sigh, sat up, dried his face on his sleeve and said helplessly, ‘What do I do now?’  
‘You decide,’ I said. ‘If the two of you are going to be at daggers drawn for evermore, you cannot live in the same village. Arthur has to stay here, because he is our leader. And I have to stay here, because I gave my word to his father, and then to his mother. But you can leave, if you wish it. And if you truly cannot forgive your brother, then perhaps that is the best course for you to take.’  
Harsh words, but they needed to be spoken.  
Kai shook his head, looking stricken. ‘I can’t leave. This is my home. I’m not going back to the Saxons. And there’s not another Celtic village where I’d be welcome.’  
‘Well, then.’ I looked at him steadily. ‘Your decision is made. If you wish to stay here, then you have to find some way to settle your differences with Arthur.’  
‘But how –’  
‘I don’t know. But you can start by going to look for him. He won’t have gone far.’ I spoke with a confidence I did not feel. ‘Swallow your pride, Kai. Go to him. Fight it out if you must, but bring him home.’  
‘He doesn’t want to talk to me.’  
‘He does. I saw his face when you turned him away.’  
…  
He’s been gone more than an hour now. It’s cold. I put more wood on the fire. A single charred blue thread lies at the edge of the hearth.  
Bitch. You dazzled us all with your pretty face. And you broke Arthur’s heart, and Kai’s along with it. Curse you.  
I pick it up and drop it into the heart of the flames. It crackles and flares briefly, and then is gone.  
Like her.  
Good riddance.  
I need something to do. I heat some stones at the hearthside and take them through to warm the beds. I fetch a cloak and go outside into the bitter chill to break the ice on the water cistern, fill two buckets, bring them back, fill the big cauldron and put it over the fire. Then I find some clean linen rags, refill the mead jug and put two wooden beakers ready on the table.  
It’s always wise to be prepared for whatever may befall.  
…  
I was not prepared for the Saxon raiders. It was a bitter lesson. I left my family unprotected, and our enemies found our homestead and destroyed it, taking my son from me and bringing me another in his place.  
Widowed and destitute, and with a motherless child to care for, I had no choice but to return to the village and make my peace with my troublesome relatives; and to convince myself that the fire that had exiled me had burned down.  
As indeed it had. Our friendship remained, until the day she died; but we took care to let it be nothing more.  
…  
I look back at the longhouse doorway, and for a moment I think I see my beloved coming in. I can picture her face as clear as day: deep blue eyes framed by shining black hair. As I see whenever I look at her son.  
My lady… No. She was never mine.  
My lord would have cut off more than my hand, if he’d known.  
I never saw love like his for her – until today.  
Like father, like son. Another thing my grandfather used to say.  
…  
As the cauldron starts to murmur and bubble, I hear a footstep outside.  
Two figures come through the door.  
I see them through the rising steam, and feel a sudden chill.  
Just as in my dream on Yule Eve, Kai has blood on his hands, and he is looking at me with empty eyes, as though he does not see me.  
But to my great relief, though Arthur is limping, leaning heavily on Kai, he is alive.  
But his face is bruised, and covered in blood; and Kai has blood in his hair, and on his disordered and ripped clothing –  
Dear Gods, what have they done to each other?  
…  
Kai lowers Arthur onto the bench by the hearth, and goes unsteadily into the bedchamber; I know by his shuttered expression that even if I go after him, he won’t let me help.  
I turn to Arthur.  
‘What happened?’  
‘I stumbled and caught my head on a beam. Don’t worry – it’s only a scratch. Scalp wounds always bleed far more than you’d expect.’  
Arthur is keeping his voice deliberately neutral, but his eyes belie him. I can see he’s in pain.  
‘You were gone a long time,’ I say. ‘I was beginning to worry that Kai wouldn’t find you.’  
‘He had no trouble finding me. I’d only gone as far as the stables.’ He is trying to reassure me; but I am far from reassured.  
His mouth is bruised, as well as his cheekbone; his shirt is torn at the neck, and there are the marks of strong fingers around his throat.  
He sees me looking.  
‘Things… got somewhat out of hand,’ he says.  
I am hoping I’ve misunderstood him. ‘You didn’t…’  
He shakes his head. ‘No. But we’ve never come so close – either of us.’  
‘Are you much hurt?’ I am relieved, and trying to hide it by being briskly practical.  
He gives me a tight smile. ‘Nothing I didn’t deserve.’  
‘And Kai?’  
I cannot hide my anxiety any more. Arthur lays a reassuring hand on my shoulder. ‘It’s all right, Llud. We fought it out. And the right man won. Only he hasn’t realised it yet.’  
He gets stiffly to his feet, picks up a cloth, wrings it out in the steaming water, and goes into the bedroom.  
…  
The door is standing a little ajar, and I hear Arthur murmur something, and then Kai’s voice, hoarse and unsteady: ‘It’ll take more than that to wipe this night’s work away.’  
‘Well, we have to start somewhere.’ Now Arthur is the one who is hiding behind being practical. ‘Come on, get those wet things off,’ he says. ‘Llud’s got hot water over the fire – we could have a hot bath…’  
Kai snorts, and for a moment I wonder whether he’s going to hit Arthur again; but there is a trace of a smile in his voice as he answers, ‘Hot baths? That Benedicta’s turned you soft.’  
There is a short silence; then Arthur asks, quietly but very distinctly:

‘Who?’

Kai catches his breath.  
Someone pushes the door closed, but still I can hear Kai sobbing, and then Arthur says, ‘Oh, Kai… Come here… Come here to me…’ It’s a voice I’ve never heard him use before.  
Footsteps cross the floor; there is a rustle, and a gasp; and then they are both weeping.  
…  
The fire between them flickered, but it has burned up anew. And now I do not think it will ever be quenched.  
…  
Time for a new beginning; time for me to go and talk to the widow, I think…  
I am not needed here.  
Spare prick at a wedding, as my grandfather used to say.  
He never thought of himself as an old man, either.


	2. From the Ashes

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What happened in the stable... and afterwards

**I**

 _I know that things are broken_

 _There’s too many words left unsaid_

 ~~~

After the bitter bright chill of the night outside, the stables are a warm, dark sanctuary: full of the smells of horse and hay, and alive with peaceful sounds of chewing and snorting.

But Arthur is too sunk in his own misery to take much comfort.

He is leaning against the wall, just inside the door, fighting back the tears that threaten to overwhelm him, now that he is alone with nobody to see. He has a vague recollection of crunching across the snowy field in the moonlight to reach this place, a familiar refuge since childhood; he doesn’t know how long he’s been standing here, but his feet and fingers are numb.

If only his heart were too.

He told Kai it was over, and in his anger and confusion he’s just told him so again.

He instantly regretted his words.

Arthur had thought himself torn in two when Benedicta left; had convinced himself that he needed her; that her pretty face held his future. He sees, now, that he had been blind to what he already had: the only thing that could really make him whole. But Kai has rejected his apology, and he can’t see a way back.

His mind is churning. Llud’s words: ‘As easily as you forgot your Kai?’ – are echoing in his ears.

Llud is wrong; he hasn’t forgotten. The summer just past has left so many memories: that very first afternoon, when he and Kai went out into the meadows after they had fought and been reconciled, and made love over and over again until the barrel was dry; stolen hours of bliss on the hunting trail; a sleepless night under the stars on the way back from Mark’s village; horse races, the swimming place, the battlefield, the longhouse, and shining through everything, Kai’s beautiful, brilliant smile.

He shakes his head and tries to banish such thoughts. He can’t afford to make himself so vulnerable again, and anyway the village must surely be expecting him to marry…

But still the tears come. He wipes his eyes on his sleeve and feels sorry for himself. His head is aching; he’s cold and tired and he can’t see straight; he’s doubting himself and his leadership, and now he has lost Kai’s support, and very likely Llud’s as well, just when he needs it more than ever.

And then he’s angry with Kai for bringing him to this. If Kai had only kept his mouth shut and not interfered … let him grieve for Benedicta in his own time –

Footsteps crunch through the doorway behind him. Arthur whips round; Kai is standing there, outlined in moonlight, his hair gleaming like silver and his face in shadow.

‘What are you doing here?’ Arthur speaks sharply; he didn’t want Kai to see him like this.

‘I came to find you.’

‘Ah, so you’re my keeper now, are you?’

Kai flinches at Arthur’s acerbic tone. ‘We were worried about you.’

‘ “We?” Or did Llud send you out here after me?’

‘I. I was worried about you.’ Kai reaches out to touch Arthur’s shoulder.

 ‘Leave me alone,’ Arthur says, rounding on him savagely. ‘I don’t need you to nursemaid me.’

‘Arthur – I thought you wanted to apologise…’

‘And you turned me down. Bit late to change your mind, don’t you think?’

 ‘I’ve had just about enough of this,’ Kai says between clenched teeth.

Arthur glares at him. ‘Then go back to the hearthside.’

 

Kai gives a roar of rage, and lashes out a fist, striking Arthur on the cheekbone.

Somewhere away in the gloom, a horse whickers in alarm.

Then the two men are fighting tooth and nail, punching and kicking, reaching for each other, grappling and breaking apart again; no words, only bruising blows, and grunts and mutters of pain, and harsh, laboured breathing. Across the stable and back again they fight, with neither pride nor skill, just trying to inflict as much damage as possible.

Arthur breaks free; he backs away, pretending he needs to get his breath, to trick Kai into launching himself forward. But as Arthur dodges, intending to trip Kai up, his foot slips on a patch of ice; trying to keep his balance, he wrenches his left knee and lets out a cry of pain as it collapses under him.

And Kai is on him.

They crash down together; a projecting beam catches Arthur a glancing blow on the side of the head as he falls. The pain of the impact makes his senses reel - he feels blood trickling through his hair – then they are on the wet and icy floor, rolling over and over, locked together.

Kai’s hands reach for Arthur’s neck; his breath is on Arthur’s cheek, and his hair is in Arthur’s eyes.

After months apart, this physical proximity to Kai is too much. The warmth and the weight of him, the smell of his sweat, the beating of his heart: all those little things that Arthur had striven so hard to put out of his mind – things he loved about this man – assail his senses afresh. His concentration lapses for a brief moment, and that is all it takes.

Kai is on top of him, pinning him to the floor, breathing hard. He leans down, and takes Arthur’s mouth in a bruising kiss, savage and urgent. Their foreheads are pressed together, slick with blood. Gasping, Kai pulls away, and rips at the front of Arthur’s shirt; he still has Arthur by the throat. The moonlit doorway is bright behind Kai’s head; Arthur can’t see his face, but he can feel that he’s hard – hard with months of pent-up frustration needing release.

Arthur fights for air. His twisted knee sends agonising pain shooting through him as he struggles to escape Kai’s grip.

But Kai is clearly beyond all sense or reason, and he is bigger, stronger, and desperately determined. He is thrusting his prick against Arthur’s belly. Kai means to violate him, and in spite of the sudden shock of fear, Arthur feels his body unwillingly respond.

He tries to speak, to plead with Kai not to do this; for Kai’s sake as much as for his own. But no sound can escape the iron-hard grip on his windpipe.

His head is swimming; sparks flicker before his eyes, and the blood is rushing in his ears. As the moonlight swirls and darkens, a drop or two of something falls on Arthur’s face; blood or sweat … he doesn’t know.

He is choking, too weak now to struggle.

A wave of regret washes over him. He drove Kai to this …

 

Kai pushes Arthur’s thighs apart and gets between them. With brutal efficiency he reaches down one-handed to loosen Arthur’s belt and breeches. But as his cold fingers touch the tip of Arthur’s prick, Kai groans and shudders. Spasms sweep through Kai’s big body and his grip on Arthur’s throat slackens.

Arthur heaves in a lungful of air and with all his remaining strength he throws Kai off him, rolls on top, and deals him a ferocious blow to the jaw.

Though Kai has stopped struggling, Arthur holds him down, hands pinning Kai’s shoulders to the ground.

And now Arthur’s own frustration and hurt take him over, demanding an outlet; he starts to tear at Kai’s clothing.

Kai offers no resistance.

Arthur stops, and looks down at him, and the cold brightness of moonlight through the doorway shows every detail. Kai’s eyes are closed; a dark trickle of blood is running from the corner of his mouth, and he’s crying – slow silver tears rolling down silently into his tangled hair.

 

Surely the world never held another face so beautiful as this one.

 

And Arthur knows: it’s not over for him, any more than it is for Kai. Perhaps there is a way back for them after all.

Cautiously, Arthur loosens his grip. Kai doesn’t attempt to resume the fight; he looks utterly defeated, and utterly ashamed.

Arthur gets painfully to his feet and stumbles away to lean against the wall. His heart is pounding, his head is on fire and his various other injuries are making themselves known above the protests of his damaged knee.

He slides down to the floor and sits there with his head bowed.

He can hear Kai’s harsh breathing above the sounds of the horses.

It is very cold.

Eventually he tries to stand, but he can’t - his wretched knee has stiffened. He can’t get up.

He swallows his pride. ‘Kai.’

Kai makes no answer.

‘Kai!’

‘What?’ Kai says, through gritted teeth.

‘I need your help.’

‘No, you don’t.’ Every word seems to be costing Kai dearly.

‘I do. My knee – I’ve damaged it, I can’t stand up. And we need to get back to the longhouse before we freeze out here.’

Silence.

 ‘Kai, please. Either help me, or go and get help. The fight’s over.’

 ‘Is it,’ Kai mutters; but all the same he scrambles up and comes over to where Arthur is slumped against the wall.

Arthur holds out a hand; Kai says nothing, but pulls him to his feet and allows Arthur to lean on him as they trudge slowly home through the snow.

 

And despite the cold and the pain of his injuries, Arthur’s heart is light. He knows, now, beyond all doubt, that what he feels for Kai really is love.

 

All he has to do is to prove it.

 

~~~

 **II**

 _You say that you have spoken_

 _And like the coward I am, I hang my head_

~~~

 ‘Here – you need this more than I do.’ Arthur puts a gentle hand on Kai’s shoulder and turns him round. He is holding out a clean cloth.

Kai feels overwhelmed by shame.

‘It’ll take more than _that_ to wipe this night’s work away.’

The worst night’s work he’s ever done.

He hates himself for it.

But Arthur’s face shows no trace of condemnation. ‘Well, we have to start somewhere,’ he says. He puts the cloth into Kai’s hand, goes and sits on the edge of his bed, and starts to take off his boots.

Kai still stands there immobile.

‘Come on, get those wet things off.’ Arthur speaks lightly, as though nothing has happened; as though this were no more than a return from a winter hunting trip. ‘Llud’s got hot water over the fire – we could have a hot bath …’

Perhaps this return to prosaic normality is Arthur’s attempt to build a bridge between them. Maybe – just maybe – it is safe to mention her name now. It has to be worth a try…

 

So Kai snorts, and answers in the same bantering tone, ‘Hot baths? That Benedicta’s turned you soft.’

Arthur freezes, a boot in one hand; his face is hidden.

For a moment Kai thinks he’s made a mistake.

Then Arthur looks up. On his face is the most beautiful, fragile smile Kai has ever seen.

 

He asks, quietly but very distinctly: ‘Who?’

 

Kai catches his breath. He was right. Arthur is telling him that Benedicta is forgotten, and if that’s really true …

Kai’s heart overflows, and the next moment he is sobbing helplessly.

Arthur sits up and holds out his arms. ‘Oh, Kai… Come here… Come here to me…’

Arthur is offering comfort, and more than that: he is seeking it too.

Kai drops the cloth and stumbles over to the bed, pushing the door closed as he passes. He drops to his knees with a gasp, and feels Arthur’s arms wrap around him, as he never thought to feel them again; and then they are both weeping.

 

Kai kneels on the floor with his head on Arthur’s lap, he doesn’t know for how long.

Dimly he hears footsteps in the hall outside, and the longhouse door opening and then closing again.

‘I’m sorry,’ Arthur says hoarsely from above him.

‘ _You’re_ sorry?’ Kai chokes. ‘I was the one who –’

But Arthur lays a finger on his lips. ‘I drove you to it, my heart. Do not reproach yourself.’ His hands are gentle as they stroke Kai’s hair.

Kai shivers; the cold is seeping into him through his damp clothing.

Arthur lets go of him and gets off the bed; coaxes Kai to his feet; leads him through to the warm hearthside. Arthur’s injured knee is clearly still painful; abruptly, he winces and leans on Kai, who helps him to a seat on the bench.

 

The ever-practical Llud has pulled the cauldron to one side of the fire, to prevent it from boiling dry, but it is still steaming comfortably. Kai fetches the washtub, fills it, and begins to undress.

 ‘Llud’s taken his cloak,’ Arthur says from behind him. ‘And the mead flask as well. It looks as though he’s planning to be out for a while… he poured us a drink before he left, though.’

Kai turns round and sees Arthur standing in the firelight, a beaker of mead in each hand.

 

Arthur is naked.

 

~~~

The new wood on the fire crackles and sparks, then settles down to a steady glow. To Kai’s tired mind everything is dreamlike: the blissful warmth, the taste of mead, the gleam of ruddy light on smooth, wet skin…

 

…

‘I thought you’d never trust me again.’

‘Would I be here with you like this if I did not?’

 

…

 ‘That’s as clean as I can get it, I think.’

‘Don’t look so worried. It’s only a scratch. A small price to pay for restoring me to my right senses… Oh, please don’t cry. Please… Listen, help me up. It’s your turn now…’

 

 …

‘Ow!’

‘I’m sorry. I really did hit you, didn’t I? Does this hurt, too?’

‘Not so much.’

‘What about here?’

‘It’s a little… tender. I’ll be stiff by tomorrow… What’s so funny?’

 

 ~~~

Later, cleansed and thawed and very much easier in his heart than he’s felt in a long time, Kai is sitting at Arthur’s feet in the fireglow, wrapped in a clean blanket and with a mead cup in his hand.

Arthur is combing Kai’s hair.

 ‘I’ve always wanted to do this,’ he confesses, as he works the comb carefully through the tangle.

 ‘You should have said so. I would have let you, you know.’

Kai drains his cup, sets it down, and leans back comfortably against Arthur’s knee.

Arthur sighs. ‘I know.’ He tugs at a particularly recalcitrant knot, holding the lock in his fingers so as not to pull at the roots.

The comb comes free, with a slight tearing sound. Arthur strokes the hair expertly back into place; his fingers are warm as they run on down the back of Kai’s neck.

 ‘Benedicta never would, though.’

Arthur sounds so sad. Kai senses there is more that Arthur wants to tell him; perhaps he doesn’t know where to start.

‘What else wouldn’t she let you do, then?’ Kai speaks lightly, but his heart is pounding.

Arthur is silent, but he continues to pull the comb through Kai’s hair with a slow rhythm, as though it comforts him.

 

‘She never let you stay the night …’ Kai says, thoughtfully, wondering why he hadn’t thought this important at the time. ‘You used to stay with her until the small hours sometimes, and then come clumping in and wake us up. But she always did send you home.’

The comb clatters abruptly to the floor.

‘Arthur?’ Kai looks up in concern; then scrambles up to sit on the bench and hold Arthur until he can speak again.

Arthur wipes his eyes on a corner of the blanket. ‘You’re right. That was why…’

‘Why you asked her to marry you so soon?’

Shamefaced, Arthur nods. ‘I wanted her. As I have never wanted a woman before. And she promised me …’

Kai swallows hard. ‘Everything that I couldn’t give you.’ His voice sounds harsh in his own ears.

Arthur heaves another sigh. ‘I was weak. I thought I would gain fulfilment, not just of my body, but of my people’s expectations. That I would marry, and produce an heir to lead them when I was gone. So I pretended, to myself, and to you, that what you and I had shared was over – that I had a new start – even that I loved her. All I could see was what I lacked, and not what I had …’

‘And now?’ Kai is trembling. ‘Arthur, I – what if I still can’t – and if the village expects…’

‘Sshh.’ Arthur kisses him on the mouth. ‘I don’t care what the village expects. Not any more. And as for what you can or can’t do…’ He picks up his own mead cup. ‘This cup is half full. Not half empty. I promise you, from now on that’s how I’ll be seeing it.’

He drains it in a couple of swigs, and sets it down.

 

His eyes are shining in the firelight as Kai helps him to his feet and leads him to the bedroom.

 

~~~

 **III**

 _And all these things I can’t describe_

 _And you would rather I didn’t try_

 ~~~

Arthur stretches out in the warm bed, luxuriating in the feel of Kai’s skin against his own. ‘Kai, please. Stop apologising. The knee and the bruises will mend soon enough – and as for the rest, there’s no harm done. I understand. I am not angry with you. And really, it was no worse than some of our other bad nights ...’

‘You mean, when I came too soon and you couldn’t get it up?’

 

At last, Kai is beginning to relax.

Arthur laughs, and reaches for him, wanting to kiss him; but Kai ducks his head, nuzzles into Arthur’s chest, and brushes Arthur’s left nipple with his lips instead. Arthur puts a hand under Kai’s chin, but Kai resists all Arthur’s attempts to raise his head, and makes a trail of delicate kisses across to the other nipple, where he stops for a while, pressing and licking and closing his teeth gently around the tender flesh.

Arthur feels himself stiffen as Kai continues to resist him, kissing his way stubbornly and thoroughly up Arthur’s chest and then being sidetracked into his armpit, and over onto his shoulder, and up behind his ear, before relenting and coming back to kiss his throat and under the angle of his jaw, and finally letting Arthur’s lips meet his own. Arthur has to hold himself back as Kai’s mouth opens to him; he can feel the heat of Kai’s erection pressing against him.

Then Kai is gone from his side.

Arthur feels a brief flicker of concern; but next moment Kai is coming back to the bed.

He is holding a flask in his hand: the same oil flask they took with them on that summer morning when they rode out, laughing, in the direction opposite to the one Eithna had taken …

Arthur can scarcely get his breath for happiness. He hadn’t expected this so soon. He rolls over, and waits for Kai to prepare him; but to his surprise he feels the cool roundness of the flask being pressed into his own hand.

 

Kai is offering himself.

 

Astonished, Arthur looks over his shoulder.

‘Kai?’

Kai slides back into bed beside him, and lies there looking at the roof beams; he won’t meet Arthur’s eyes.

He says, ‘I will need to see your face.’

Arthur says gently, ‘You don’t have to prove anything to me.’

‘But to myself, I do,’ Kai replies. ‘I denied you this, even though I knew how much you wanted it. And look where it led us. I can’t let that happen again.’

‘It won’t happen again. I swear it.’

But Kai shakes his head. ‘I failed you before. I need to know now – before we let ourselves get into deep water again – that this time I will be able to give you everything you need, and not just half measures. Please, Arthur. It may not be perfect, after the evening we’ve had, but at least let us discover whether it will be possible.’

Arthur kisses him, with love and gratitude; props himself on his elbow, and opens the oil flask.

 

…

They are careful with each other: Arthur’s twisted knee hampers him, and both of them are bruised and sore, as well as very tired.

Arthur slides his oiled hands over Kai’s belly and thighs and shaft, trying to reassure him. Gradually he coaxes Kai to spread himself and let Arthur’s fingers enter; he feels a brief resistance, but he carries on, speaking soft words of love, and little by little Kai lets him in, until Arthur reaches that most sensitive spot deep inside, and Kai cries out and clutches at himself as he comes.

Arthur holds him and helps him; then withdraws his hand, and passes Kai the cloth from the floor beside the bed, to clean himself.

Kai’s eyes are wide and dark.

‘Should we stop there?’ Arthur asks. ‘It won’t hurt me to wait until morning. And we need to sleep. You look as tired as I feel…’

But Kai shakes his head. ‘I won’t sleep if I don’t know. Please – if you can – please go on…’

‘As you wish.’

Arthur leans over and kisses him, slowly.

Then he pours more oil, and smooths it over his prick; not hurrying; letting Kai watch him.

 

He spreads Kai’s legs apart and kneels between them; puts an arm under one thigh and lifts it, opening Kai’s body to him.

Kai’s muscles are still tense, despite all Arthur’s care; he draws a sharp breath as Arthur eases himself into position, letting just the tip of his cock press into Kai’s entrance and rest there, giving them both time to adjust to this new and unfamiliar situation.

Kai has never let Arthur go even this far before; and now he is shivering.

‘Kai.’ Arthur looks into Kai’s troubled face, and strokes his cheek. ‘Are you sure?’

Kai nods, his face flushed. ‘Take me …’

‘I want to give, Kai, not to take. This is your first time – I want it to be your night. Ask for what you need, and I will give it to you. Or tell me to withdraw, and I will, without question.’

Kai heaves a huge sigh. ‘No. I need you to go on. I want you to. I refused you for too long...’

And he lifts his hips, drawing Arthur further into him.

 

A confusion of new and wonderful sensations washes over Arthur as they move slowly together. Kai’s body around him is tight and warm and completely unlike either of the women he’s had, or any of those rare but ecstatic times Kai’s taken Arthur in his mouth. He shuts his eyes; he wants this to last for ever. He wants –

Kai makes a small whimpering sound, and Arthur falls back to earth with a jolt. This is about both of them.

He opens his eyes, and sees with concern that Kai is still afraid: he looks as he sometimes does on the battlefield, when he’s pitted against an adversary he knows is too strong for him, and needs Arthur’s help.

And just as on the battlefield, Arthur will not shame him by making him ask.

‘Whatever it is you’re fighting,’ Arthur says, reaching out to squeeze Kai’s shoulder: ‘you are not fighting it alone.’

Kai looks at Arthur’s hand, and then looks away. ‘I feel alone. In my head.’

Arthur feels his erection subsiding; he cannot go on, and it would be wrong to try, with Kai in such obvious distress. He disentangles himself, very carefully, and stretches out beside Kai, letting the blond head rest on his shoulder.

‘Kai, my love. What’s wrong? Please tell me.’

But Kai hides his face in Arthur’s neck, and says nothing.

 

When the silence begins to trouble him, Arthur asks, ‘Was I hurting you?’

‘No…’

Kai huddles closer to Arthur, and Arthur puts both arms around him and holds him, feeling him trembling with something more than just cold and weariness. Twice Kai starts to speak, then hesitates; Arthur rubs his back with a soothing hand, and waits patiently.

Finally Kai manages a hoarse whisper:

‘That wasn’t the first time.’

He sounds like a lost child.

Arthur’s heart turns over with sudden, devastating understanding. Very gently he says, ‘Go on.’

A sob shakes Kai’s shoulders. ‘I’m not sure I can.’

‘You can,’ Arthur says, taking Kai’s hand firmly in his own. ‘You’ve already told me the worst of it. Now let me know the rest, and let me help. You’ve fought this enemy alone for too long.’

Kai sniffs, and wipes his eyes; takes a few moments to compose himself.

 

‘I never told anyone,’ he says at last. ‘Not even Llud… My mother died of a fever when I was very small. I hardly remember her. Two summers later my father remarried, and his new wife’s brother came to live with us too. He’d lost a leg to wolves the winter before, so he couldn’t fight. When my father went away on his next campaign, my uncle just sat at our hearthside drinking ale. Until one day the ale ran out, and he turned his attentions to me…’

Kai’s hand grips Arthur’s as though it is saving him from drowning in the frozen lake.

‘We were alone in the house. Nobody heard us. To make up for the loss of his leg, he’d grown cunning. He tripped me, half-stunned me, stuffed a rag in my mouth to muffle my cries. Turned me face down on his filthy bed and –’

He heaves a shuddering breath. ‘I thought it would tear me apart. I bled for a week. Thought I was going to die. Wanted to die … My stepmother had threatened to beat me if I told my father, so I kept my silence when he returned. I don’t know how he found out, but suddenly he and my uncle were at daggers drawn, and I knew why. My father couldn’t kill him. Instead he watched over me, and took me along on the next raid to keep me safe … And then he was killed…’

 

‘So that’s why you followed Llud.’ Arthur kisses the top of Kai’s head; rests his cheek on the smooth golden hair. ‘Because you didn’t dare go home.’

‘And that’s why for nearly two years after I came to the village, I couldn’t bring myself to say a word to anybody but Llud or you. I buried the memories. Convinced myself that I had forgotten.’

‘Until you and I –’ There is a lump in Arthur’s throat.

Kai reaches up and touches Arthur’s cheek. ‘It wasn’t your fault. I’d been running after the girls – they didn’t frighten me – and running away from you, although I didn’t know why … until we had that fight, and I realised I couldn’t run away any more. I wanted you. You wanted me. I thought that would be enough.’

‘But it wasn’t.’ Arthur feels regret wash over him. ‘Not for me …’

Kai shakes his head, slowly. ‘No, it wasn’t. And that day when you tried to take me from behind, in the field –’ He chokes on a sob. ‘It all came flooding back. You were so angry, and hurt. And I couldn’t give you an explanation.’

‘I shouldn’t have needed one.’ Arthur is ashamed, recalling Kai’s desperate reluctance, and his own selfishness.

‘I understood, when Benedicta came along. Understood before you did. And I couldn’t blame you. I tried to support you, tried to keep our friendship, since that was all that was left to me … but it broke my heart to think that you were getting so easily from her what you couldn’t get from me.’

Arthur snorts. ‘Except that I wasn’t getting it. And I was too proud to admit it.’

‘Serves you right.’ Kai looks up; and although his face is wet with tears, there is a glimmer of a smile there, like the first glimpse of spring sun through the winter storm clouds.

 

Somehow, through his own tears, Arthur manages to smile back.

 

‘Arthur.’ Kai pulls him close, and kisses him. ‘It’s all right now. We can start again... ’

He reaches down and cups Arthur’s balls; but Arthur grips his wrist and lifts his hand gently away.

‘You don’t have to do this, Kai – not now. There will be plenty of time…’

‘Don’t you want to?’

‘Well, of course I want to, but…’

‘But you’re too tired?’ Kai’s smile is growing broader as he reaches down the bed again.

‘No, but...’

‘Ah.’ Kai’s voice is deep, and amused. ‘So this is just another of those bad nights, is it?’

‘Bad nights?’ Arthur asks. Kai’s hand gripping his shaft is very distracting.

‘Like we were talking about when we got into bed. You know, when I came too soon, and… ah, no, sorry. My mistake. You don’t seem to have any trouble there, as far as I can see – or feel…’

Kai grins, and lies back on the bed, offering himself again – and this time, Arthur can see, he means it.

 

He knows full well that Kai’s levity is masking his apprehension, and Kai knows that he knows; but this is a tactic they’ve used before many a battle or dangerous mission, to avoid admitting their fears to their followers, while reassuring each other.

‘Well,’ he says, punctuating his words with tender kisses, ‘Llud did – always say – that you – should finish – what you started…’

‘And I’ve certainly started something,’ Kai agrees, working his hand teasingly up and down.

Arthur gasps, and wriggles. ‘You certainly have.’

‘So… can I help you to finish it, then?’ Kai can’t keep a slight tremor out of his voice.

Arthur has a lump in his throat as he replies:

‘Only if you let me help you, too.’

Kai heaves a deep breath, and says bravely, ‘Where’s that oil?’

 

So Arthur reaches for the flask, and Kai unstoppers it, and together they prepare Kai to face his fears.

At last it is Kai who guides Arthur’s prick inside him.

As they rock together, keeping every movement slow and gentle, Arthur sees Kai begin to trust, and to enjoy instead of simply enduring… and then Kai grows hard again, and Arthur takes him in his hand, and gives him what he needs. As he comes, Kai looks into Arthur’s eyes with utter love, baring his very soul.

Arthur has never been so happy.

He hears himself cry out, and suddenly he too is coming: like a great wave thundering onto the beach. Kai rides it with him, and when the first wild tumult is over, Kai winds his hands into Arthur’s hair and pulls him into a passionate kiss, released from all fear, no longer holding anything back.

Arthur tastes the salt of Kai’s tears, but when they break apart, Kai is smiling; smiling with pure joy, as he did on that first day in the summer meadow. Arthur kisses him again and again, scarcely able to believe his good fortune.

 

He is whole again, and so is Kai.

 

The cup is not just half full: it’s overflowing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to trepkos for ruthless and insightful beta reading. All remaining scaffolding and rubbish is my own responsibility.
> 
> Section quotes are from the wonderful Mumford & Sons song 'Liar'.


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